


Where the Devil Don’t Stay

by chase_acow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season 3, getting Dean out of hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-25
Updated: 2008-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-04 15:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18346328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_acow/pseuds/chase_acow
Summary: Two years after Dean’s deal comes due. Sam Winchester - law student, ex-hunter, and a demon’s last hope.





	Where the Devil Don’t Stay

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

February, 2010

_The body underneath Sam’s was made of hard planes and velvet soft skin. Legs spread wide around Sam’s hips, thighs and tendons like still bands pulling him down and in. His arms twitched with the effort of holding his weight up off the springy mattress as his knees slipped over the rumpled sheets. He trembled from head to toe, shivering with the most basic of need. They’d been together for forever, bodies tangled together from one side of time to the other. He couldn’t begin to imagine a reason he would leave the comforting companionship and overwhelming obsession._

_In the darkness, sound was magnified so that he could hear every quiet gasp and groan coming from the body beneath him. The noises shocked straight through his system and down, pooling in his belly and starting the slow burn from the inside. Sam’s bones felt like liquid fire forcing him to keep moving before he turned to ash. The tight silk he thrust into was welcoming, the weight fell from his shoulders and let him breathe again._

_Phantom hands clung to his shoulders and moved up to tangle in his hair. Sam wanted to speak, opened his mouth but nothing would come out. He leaned down and ran his cheek up his lover’s neck until he brushed the stubble together in a scratchy rasp. Hot puffs of breath tingled against his ear and pushed him up to a higher level of desperation. He lost rhythm, his thrusts were erratic, and for a second he was afraid that he’d vibrate hard enough to shatter._

_A thousand million little pieces of him floating through the ether._

Sam woke up, sitting straight in his bed and gasped for air like a drowning man just as orgasm swept through his body. The old material of his boxers soaked through in moments and sucked back, clinging to his overheated skin. He sank back down, thin pillows doing little to cushion the bounce of his head from the mattress. Slowly, his heart slowed down and he took measured breaths that filled his rib cage before he slowly exhaled. The thin wisps of his dream was already fading away, like stars in the early morning light.

Outside his window, a rooster crowed loudly, overanxious in the dim light of false dawn and ending Sam’s last dregs of peace. He was drained and energized at the same time, but his motivation was as aimless as ever. Midterms for his third semester at law school were next week, but his mind was already bursting with case numbers and supreme court decisions. The last thing he wanted to do was spend another day inside studying. Especially when the weather had finally been mild enough to melt away the snow accumulated from the last couple of months.

With a groan, he rolled out of bed, his feet slapping against the floor as he bounced up and shrugged his shoulders. His boxers were already cooled into a disgusting sticky mess so he shucked them down and threw them in the general direction of his clothes hamper. He’d go for a morning run, and then maybe stop by his landlord’s house to see if Don needed any help with the farm. If nothing else, he would have to make the twenty minute drive to town to stop at the grocery store for supplies. 

He stopped at the mirror on the outside of the bathroom door. At eye level was a tattered picture, one of the only mementoes from his childhood that he managed to scavenge from the Impala’s wreckage years ago. The car had been saved and the memories, but that photo of him and his dad on one of their rare good days was worth the glass scratches he’d gotten from climbing in after it. He reached up and brushed his fingers over the two smiling faces, tracing down the edges of the torn paper.

John Winchester had been a hard man, and often times so far distant from Sam that they could have been in different states for all they managed to connect. But even when they were seconds away from biting each other’s heads off, Sam knew he’d been loved. After all, it’d only been the two of them. A lonely existence, but it could have been worse. Now, he didn’t have anybody. 

The only reason he got out of bed in the morning was pure pig-headedness. The only good thing in his life wasn’t real. Just half remembered dreams that called him louder than his real life.

He shook away those gloomy thoughts, and continued into the bathroom, hoping that the old pipes had made it through another cold night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April, 2008

 

“Did you pick up the herbs I told you to get?”

“Kid, this is still the worst idea I’ve ever heard. If he knew what you were planning…”

“But he doesn’t Bobby,” Dean said, just said because he was so far past the point of anger or despair that he didn’t have the energy to expend. He was just fucking tired. So tied and more than ready to be done with that whole ‘mortal coil’ thing. “He doesn’t, and he isn’t going to. That‘s the whole point.”

The dogs had run the second Dean had stepped foot out of the Impala, and when he looked outside Dean could see their huddled shapes underneath the junk cars. Bobby’s house was as dark as only the night of the new moon could make it, and silent except for their muted conversation and the creaky springs from the bed upstairs. The sleeping pills had knocked Sam out after dinner, but no pharmaceutical known to man or monster could keep him from tossing and turning if Dean wasn’t there to act as a human snuggle pillow. Of all the things to come to pass over his last year, that was the most surprising, but the most miraculous. 

Sam had curled his long fingers over the back of Dean’s hand and laced their fingers together when he pressed into Dean’s body for the first time. Sam smiled when the weak sunlight broke through the cracked window and he’d kept Dean from pulling away just by wrapping an arm around his shoulder and snuggling deeper. Sam had held Dean’s hips hard as Dean rocked up and down, sliding on Sam’s dick and worked his own cock in desperation. Sam stroked down his neck kissing tenderly after yet another close call on the hunt and whispering promises into Dean’s skin.

Those promises still simultaneously made his toes curl and chilled him to the very marrow of his bones.

“This is some deep shit, and ain’t neither of us goddamn witches,” Bobby griped, handing over the bag of weeds that Dean had asked for and scowling. His hat was cocked sideways from constant fidgeting and the soft wisps of hair poking out the bottom were damp from nervous sweat. “If this goes south, then-”

“It won’t,” Dean cut in, wishing again that he could have done the ritual on his own, but he couldn’t mix the ingredients and hold the book to read the words. Sam had been more than willing to stop hunting and take the detour to Bobby’s house. Dean had to stay out in the yard so he wouldn’t have to smell Sam’s desperation while he poured over Bobby’s book looking for one last deal breaker. “Just do your part and everything will be hunky dory.”

The bed upstairs creaked again, and Dean felt a red hot whip of regret curl around his belly. Violently, he wished to be up there, curled around Sam’s back and breathing in the fruity smell of his shampoo with nothing heavier than their choice of breakfast weighing on his mind. Life as Winchester had always been hard, but the past year had sucked beyond any measure. He’d do it all over again though; he’d sell his soul again in a heartbeat if that’s what it took to save Sam’s life, but watching Sam finally begin to give up hope in the last week broke his heart into pieces.

“I still think you’re a couple of bullets short of a full pack,” Bobby said under his breath, flipping the book open to the pages Dean had marked. His hands only wavered slightly as his thick fingers carefully traced over the lines of tiny text. “This has less chance of working than Nader finally getting elected.”

Dean rolled his eyes and took the bag of stinky herbs to the empty spot in the diagram he’d drawn on the floor. His knees cracked as he knelt on the hardwood slats and sat back so that the heels of his boots dug into his butt. This was really Sammy’s thing, but Dean was nothing if not adaptive. It had been a bitch first finding an unused bowl made from virgin wood, but keeping it hidden from Sam had taken every trick he’d ever learned from hiding his porn from dad. More even, because Sam was one nosy bastard.

Bobby started the opening incantation of the ritual, the foreign words rolling off his tongue in his cigarette scarred voice. Dean waited until he heard the first of the phrases he’d memorized and opened the drawstring bag on his lap. The plants were mixed in a clump, long stems wrapping around smaller buds and several different kinds of seeds lost in the bottom. He dumped the plants out into the bowl and threw the bag out past the boundaries of the circle. On the second verse he recognized, he unsheathed a wickedly curved dagger and cut his forearm from the inside of his elbow to the middle of his palm. The blood dripped steadily into the bowl and then in a circle around it while he waited for Bobby to start the last verse. 

A supreme calm fell over his shoulders as he passed the point of no return. If this was what praying felt like for Sammy, then maybe Dean could see why he did it. He flicked a match across the back of the book and as Bobby’s last word faded into silence and let it fall, igniting the herbs and his blood in an instant. The fire flashed, so hot that the heat seared across the bare flesh of his face and he had to back peddle as carefully as he could not to break the lines of salt. The smoke quickly formed a column reaching almost to the ceiling.

“Dean?” Bobby gaped as the smoke slowly started revolving, but instead of dissipating, grew wider and darker, spreading out over their heads. A plume ducked low and licked closer to Bobby‘s startled face. “Dean, what the hell did you do?”

“What I had to do,” Dean answered, standing shakily as his energy drained into the plume of incense. He felt like he was being stretched in every direction at once and real pain splintered up his nervous system making his teeth chatter in reaction. This had better be worth it, or he was going to find a way to come back and haunt Sam’s sorry ass. “Sorry Bobby, but I had to protect him, and this is the only way I could think to do it.”

“Damn, stupid, Winchester,” Bobby slurred, slumping down into the recliner that they had pushed out of the way. His eyelids drooped heavy over his eyes and in moments he was snoring blissfully.

Like a shockwave, the smoke exploded from the room in every direction. Dean fell back to his knees, bruising skin and bone, and ruining the scattered lines of salt and blood. Panting, Dean dropped down to his hands, counting backwards from twenty and hoping to regain his strength by the time he reached zero. He still had to clean up his mess and clean out any trace of himself from the Impala before he could leave. The book had said that the first couple of days were critical to making sure that the spell took.

He only had three more days on his contract, and it would probably take just that long to hitch his way to the crossroads. When Sam woke up the next morning, he’d finally be free of at least this part of his nightmare. 

That was all Dean could wish for.

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling one more time, imagining Sam’s splayed limbs and the worry line across his forehead that persisted even into slumber. “Happy birthday, little bro,” he said aloud, voice scratched and hurt from his throat to his ears. “You better goddamn appreciate this.”

Dean’s legs shook as he staggered out into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

February, 2010

 

Sam shifted the Impala into park and sighed a little as he watched the few trees around his house flail their branches in the wind. One of these days he was going to trade in the car for something newer with better heat and a/c. It wasn’t like he was scoring points with the old man anymore by driving around his hunk of junk just to prove a point. Maybe he could work out a deal the next time Don called for help with the cows, he sold used cars on the side, surely there would be something there that would work. He needed better gas mileage when he drove to class twice a week.

Law school was good, but he’d be just as happy when it was done, and he could spend more time actually working with people. Around here, most everyone were farm folk or oil pumpers, but they didn’t ask too many questions that he couldn’t answer, and he felt an odd kinship with the bare, wind-swept plains. Plus after he did a quick salt and burn at an old parsonage, he hadn’t come across anything supernatural in over his year and a half of residency. He still consulted with a few hunters, but he hadn’t worked a case since the morning he woke up in Bobby’s spare room wondering why his life had lost all meaning.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, just sitting there wasn’t going to get his milk into the refrigerator. He kicked the car door open and stepped out into the growing gloom. Don’s farm house was a warm beacon in the distance, but his own little cottage was dark, cold, and incredibly lonesome. He turned, opened up the back door to the car and bent over to pull out his grocery bags. The plastic rustled and bit into his hands as he pulled out nearly a dozen bags to haul up to his front door.

Don’s wife must have been down to get something out of storage because when he tried the knob he found it locked. The wind kicked up again, and sent sand to flay every exposed inch of his skin. Sam started cursing under his breath, already trying to find his keys in his pockets without setting any of his bags down.

“You need a hand there, sweet cheeks?”

Sam turned fast, his muscles bunching with ingrained instinct, and he didn’t relax in the slightest when all he saw was a young girl standing with her hand on her hip. She was average sized, wavy red hair fell down to the bottom of her shoulder blades and she was dressed in well worn denim. The collar of her jean jacket stood straight up, the points reaching the middle of her cheeks, and it was a little too big for her frame. 

“Wanna take a picture or something?”

He jolted out of his stare and automatically took a step back. Carefully, he put the bags in his right hand down and dug in the pocket of his coat for his keys. “No, ah no thanks,” Sam squinted as his hair blew down into his face, and couldn’t imagine why she wasn’t fighting with her own hair as it whipped around her face. “What are you doing this far out?”

Almost two years, but his training went so deep that he cursed himself silently for not even having a blade on him. He’d gotten lazy again, but at least this time there was no girlfriend or father to pay the price of his foolishness. With a sinking heart, he realized that even inside, all his weapons were in the trunk in his bedroom. Bobby was going to be pissed as hell at him.

“Easy there tiger,” the woman said, sauntering slowly closer to him and holding both hands out to her sides as if to show how harmless she was. She cocked an insolent grin at him and glanced up through her eyelashes, “I’m just here looking for some help.”

Sam opened the door, edged inside and flipped on the porch light, the golden circle snapping out of oblivion to highlight the short space between them. “I don’t know what they told you in town, but I haven’t passed my bar yet. I’m really not qualified to hand out any kind of legal advice,” he said, daring to hope that maybe it was just a small misunderstanding. The town was small enough that everyone knew who he was and they were already asking him to look at contracts and advise disputes.

She laughed, and the sound was loud and true, somehow putting him a little more at ease that the woman didn’t bother to affect the giggle that so many of the girls at school did. She was attractive if not conventionally beautiful, and her eyes had depths that he didn’t usually find out here in cow country. It felt as if they were just continuing a conversation that they’d started a long time ago.

“I was hoping that you might be able to help me in your other profession, Sam Winchester.”

His blood ran cold, even as he tried to cover his stutter by picking up most of the bags he’d dropped and stepping into the house. “Get the rest of those for me, would you?” he asked, walking inside before she could reply, his mind working on a plan that might have a better than even chance of him making in out of the night alive. He heard her footsteps though, boots clunking over the old linoleum floor, and he continued, “I haven’t actively hunted in almost two years, I don’t know how much help I’d be.”

“It’s been six hundred and sixty-five days to be exact,” she said, setting down the bags she’d brought in on the floor by the kitchen sink and stepping back to lean against the kitchen counter. “I hope you’re not too rusty.”

“How do you know me?” Sam demanded, as he looked her over and wondered how long she’d keep the act up.

“I consulted a psychic, she referred me to you,” the woman said, raking her gaze up and down Sam’s body and letting a sultry smile turn her face from just pretty to gorgeous. “Though, I honestly didn’t think I’d find you hiding out here in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

Sam opened the door to the refrigerator and reached down to pick up his half gallon of skim milk to put in its spot in the door. He cut his eyes sideways to make sure that she hadn’t moved yet and hopefully still wasn’t expecting anything. “I’m so sorry to disappoint you,” he said calmly and reached into the very back of the shelf to find the one bottle of holy water he kept in the house.

“Well, I suppose that you can make it up to me.”

“Yeah,” he said straightening and uncapped the bottle, trying not to spill any as he gripped the bottle tightly in his fist. “I’ll work on that.”

He splashed the water across her face and heard the familiar hiss just as her eyes turned black and she flinched away. He spun around, grabbing a chopping knife from the sink and brandishing it in front of him as if it would do any good. He felt adrenalin course through his system, and he felt more alive than he had in a long time. He’d always thought that he’d done the right thing when he stopped hunting to settle down, there hadn’t been anything left tying him to that life anymore, but maybe he was wrong. 

“Holy shit, that burns!” she yelled throwing her hands up to try to flick the water from her hands as the smoke rose from her reddened face and the smell of sulfur invaded the whole room. “I mean, I always figured it hurt, but I never really realized how much it sucked.”

“Get out,” Sam snarled, shifting his grip on the knife and hurling it at her head as hard as he could.

Lazily, she held up a single hand and swatted the blade away, but there was an impressed look in her eyes as if she hadn’t quite expected that move. Well, he had more where that came from. He splashed her again with the holy water, a long stripe from her knee up to her face and spun around, trying to get his hands on whatever weapon he could find.

A sharp crack, echoed across the small room, and it was only a moment later that he felt the pain bloom up from the back of his skull. His knees buckled underneath him, but he managed to fall to the ground so that the woman was still in his line of sight. She was still holding tight to one of the flimsy frying pans he’d picked up at the dollar store, that now had a Sam-sized dent in it. It had been in the dish drainer just waiting to be put up after he had washed it last night.

“Sorry, dude,” she said standing over his body while the kitchen behind her slowly faded to black. “Didn’t want to do that, but I’m on a tight schedule.”

She was the last thing he lost from his vision, and he thought giddily if rather gratefully that at least she hadn’t choked him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Sam noticed was the scratchy sound of AC/DC’s Back in Black playing over the ancient tape deck, and the first thing he thought was How predictable. though he couldn’t really put his finger on why. Figured that a being of pure evil would manage to find the box of tapes he’d shoved deeply underneath the front seat, lost to time, out of sight and out of mind.

“Ah, there’s my sleeping beauty.”

Sam jerked up, stopped short when cold metal bit deep into his wrists and groaned as his headache caught up with him. The inside of his head felt fuzzy, and throbbed with the low vibrations of a bass drum. It reminded him of waking up after one of his vision nightmares back when he was on the road hunting his dad and the demon with equal fervor. 

“Where are we going?” he asked, his mouth gummy and disgusting from his enforced nap. The sky outside was the black of true night, and the countryside flashing by his window didn’t offer a clue as to which direction they were headed. It was Saturday night, and he had kept to himself so much that no one would even miss him until he didn’t show up for class on Tuesday.

“Gotta see a demon about a body,” she answered shortly. 

The bag of chips he’d just bought at the store was open on the seat between them, and she reached down to grab a handful to stuff in her mouth. She crunched noisily, humming along to the song and spewing crumbs down across the dash. Sam wrinkled his nose and slumped in his seat until he got stuck with the seatbelt threatening to cut off his air supply, he choked out, “Whatever it is you’re doing, I’m not going to help you.”

“I thought you hunters thought everybody deserved help?” she asked, reaching over to adjust the seatbelt so that it wasn’t about to choke the life out of him. Her fingers strayed just enough to trail slightly over the bare skin of his neck, leaving a tingle even when she quickly pulled away.

“There’s just the one little problem, of that not actually being your body,” Sam answered, resisting the urge to try to bite at the woman’s hands, but only because he was pretty sure it’d make him look retarded. What kind of demon abided by traffic laws anyway?

She clucked under her breath and reached to turn the volume down. “I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but I did this body a favor,” she said and reached over the steering wheel to push up the sleeve on her right arm. “See those? When I got this body she was a junkie closer to death than a warm meal.”

The arm she showed Sam was marked from the elbow halfway to her wrist with tell-tale track marks and scars of a long time drug user. It had been awhile, but Sam couldn’t remember any demon he’d ever met talking to him like that, or trying to reassure him. In Winchester history, demons were more of a kill now and never stop to explain type.

“And when you’re done with it?” Sam asked darkly, remembering the tiring job of exorcising a demon only to have a dead body on his hands to burn or bury and no way to ever give closure to those left behind. Almost as bad as werewolves.

The woman grinned cheekily over and gunned the engine as if just to hear the car purr and jump to her command. “When I’m done with it, Sammy, it’ll be better off than when I found it, and she’ll be long past that messy withdrawal,” she shifted in the seat, sitting up straight so that she could see better and stretched out her arm over the back seat. “Maybe she’ll even stay clean this time.”

“Don’t call me Sammy,” he muttered, heart skipping a beat at the familiarity of the nick-name. Nobody had called him that since he’d been a chubby twelve year old following his dad around on his one man quest to rid the world of evil. “Who are you anyway?”

“Dean,” she said, fixing her eyes on the dark ribbon of road stretching out in front of them. “My name is Dean.”

“That’s a boy’s name,” Sam said inanely, wiggling and wishing that his hands weren’t cuffed to the door so he could lift them to scratch his nose and brush his hair back from across his eyebrows.

Without any other prompting on his part, Dean reached across the seat and combed her fingers through his bangs and flicked his nose hard enough that the itch melted away. “Yeah, well, I didn’t really have time to be picky when I was out body shopping. I did the best I could,” she said, dropping her hand back over the seat, her knuckles close enough to brush his shoulders whenever he moved. “You were a hard guy to track down without tipping anyone off.”

“Why me? Why am I so special?” he asked, scrunching his nose and blinking back moisture from his eyes that came from her thump.

She was silent for so long that he thought that she was ignoring him finally. “You’re the last Winchester left on earth,” she said, her voice tight and her legs moving automatically to slow down and merge onto the interstate. “I need your blood.”

“Why?”

Dean sighed and jerked her head from side to side, her vertebra cracking loudly in the otherwise silent cab. “I need your help to open a tiny portal through space, time, and possibly dimensions,” she answered, fingers drumming a random pattern on the steering wheel. “If it works, you’ll understand why, if it doesn’t, I go back to hell, you can get the girl, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

“You’ll forgive me if I hope for door number two,” Sam narrowed his eyes and tried to shift into a position that took some of the pressure off his aching shoulders.

Dean laughed but it was nothing like her first laugh. Instead, it was humorless; full of the worst kind of pain and sorrow that he’d ever heard before. She took her hand away from him and reached down to turn up the radio so that ‘Driving Hits Vol II’ blasted from the speakers. They didn’t speak again until dawn broke the sky and set the clouds on fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They drove through the entire day, only stopping for gas and snacks. Conversation was stilted and often drifted into silence when they tried to connect in the tiny space and failed miserably. Finally, the pressure on his bladder got to be too much and he had to insist on a bathroom break.

“Well, y’know, I would, but then I’d have to threaten you. You wouldn’t listen, so I’d have to threaten all the Bobs and Sallys just trying to take their kids for a family vacation,” Dean sighed, acting put out but a corner of her mouth tilted up, sharing the joke. “And I’d just hate to ruin their apple pie with threats of blood and guts.”

Sam gritted his teeth, incredibly annoyed at her patronizing tone. “So what?” he asked, moving constantly as much as he could to relieve the pressure from his sore ass. “You want me to pee on the seat?”

“Shut your mouth, blasphemer! This is real leather!” she yelled, showing real emotion for the first time in several hours. “Here, use this.” She unscrewed an empty Mountain Dew bottle and tossed it in his lap.

“You’re kidding me.”

“What? I’m sure you’ve done it before.”

Sam contorted his arms until he could get his hands on the bottle, and looked back at her wide-eyed. “But not with an audience, or wearing handcuffs!” he said, a little panicked at the thought of baring himself in front of her. 

“Maybe you’d get more girls if your sex life was a little more kinky,” she grinned, her eyes crinkling in pleasure as she teased him. She dug around in her hip pocket until she found what she was looking for and pulled out a tiny silver key. “I’ll undo your handcuffs, but you’d better behave yourself or I’ll put the whammy on you again.”

“You didn’t whammy me!” he said outraged as he stretched to reach for the key. “You hit me with a cooking utensil when my back was turned!”

“Tomayto, tomahto,” she said, shrugging and holding the key almost in his reach. “Promise you’ll be a good boy?”

Sam snarled and jerked against the handcuffs hard enough to raise a line of red welts along his wrist. “Yes,” he finally growled when she didn’t so much as twitch a muscle closer.

“Yes, what?” Dean asked in a sing-song voice.

“You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met, and I hate you.”

“And?” she prompted again, taking her eyes off the road to arch an eyebrow at him.

Sam slumped into the passenger seat and answered, “And I promise to be a good boy.”

She set the key in his hand and patted his thigh, “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam woke from a nap as the Impala idled to a stop. They were stopped in the middle of the nowhere, on a hard packed gravel road in the late afternoon sunlight. He blinked hard in the glare of the sun shining straight into his eyes and turned to see what Dean was waiting for. She was staring ahead, her hands like iron claws, gripping the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles were white. Following her gaze, Sam discovered that they were sitting in front of a crossroads.

“Gee,” he said, sleep still coloring his voice, “who died?”

“I did,” Dean said quietly, finally remembering to breathe and relaxing her death grip. 

He stayed quiet while she pulled off into the grass at the side of the road. He’d thought all day about what he should do when they finally stopped. She had supernatural strength and reflexes, she even had him beat in the smartass department. Sure, he could make himself into a pain, but all that would probably lead to was him being bruised and bloody while she still did whatever it was that she came to do. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said quietly as if she could read his thoughts. “I just need a few drops of your blood. I’ll give you the knife and everything if you’ll just help me.”

Dean pulled the keys out the ignition, a tired slump to her shoulders and held them out to him. Cautiously, Sam reached out and opened up his hand palm up underneath her. She dropped the keys and lowered her hand to grasp his before he could pull back. Her hand was warm against his as she wrapped her fingers around his palm. 

Sam swallowed around a knot in his throat and squeezed her hand in reply. It was insane, trusting a demon. And stupid. They slid out of the car together. Sam thankfully stretched his cramped, sore muscles, lifting his hands up to the sky and groaning out loud. 

“Dude, whenever you’re done with your orgasm, I could use some help back here.”

Grinning, Sam walked to the back of the Impala just in time to swing his head out of the way as she slung the trunk open. He was slightly embarrassed when she tisked over all the junk he’d shoved back there, but held his hands out when she pulled out a crate he didn’t recognize and handed it over. He grunted at the weight. “You’re stronger than I am, shouldn’t you be carrying this?” he asked, following as she led him to the middle of the crossroads.

“I’d hate to deprive you of the chance for chivalry,” she answered, winking at him. They stopped and she took the box from him, set it down in the middle of the road to root through it. She tossed a can of spray paint at him and stood up. “I only have until the sun sets to finish. I want you to go over there and draw a devil’s trap just in case.”

Sam took the offered paint with a wrinkled brow, but she’d already turned to her own preparations. Shrugging, he moved over to where she pointed and began his task. The lines came easily to his memory, and he felt at peace for the first time in too long. He lost himself in the repetitive motion, Latin rolling off his tongue in a protective chant until he was finished and standing in the middle of the still wet paint.

“Good job, Sam. Not too rusty, I guess,” Dean said, a proud note coloring her voice and causing a flush to rise along Sam’s cheeks. She held out a knife and bowl, keeping her hand just outside the edge of the circle. “I need enough blood to sprinkle over a fire.”

Over her shoulder, he could see another set of lines and salt crisscrossing the heart of the crossroads and a small pile of sapling branches layered in the middle. Past that, Sam watched as the sun dropped low enough to kiss the horizon, and he shifted conflicted. He looked back at Dean and knew that she had given him this last choice, and he knew that either way, his life would never be the same again.

“Sammy, please?”

He took the knife and before he could take a second thought and sliced across the skin of his forearm. Wincing, he handed the knife back and took the bowl, holding it under his arm and flexing his hand to keep the blood flowing. He kept his eyes locked on hers the entire time until she finally shook her head and cleared her throat.

“That’s enough, thank you,” she said and held out both hands to take the bowl back as if its contents were precious. She smiled sadly for a moment, and then her eyes hardened. “Now stay there. No matter what see or hear, don’t move until the sun is completely down. Promise me?”

“I promise,” he whispered, barely keeping himself from reaching out to her.

Dean turned and quickly walked back to her makeshift altar. Sam was too far away to hear what she was saying, but he could see her start the fire and drop in several different plants and amulets before she added his blood to the mix. She was going fast, racing against the rapidly descending sun, and Sam just hoped she didn‘t make a mistake. Something was definitely happening.

Clouds boiled overhead; the smoke from her fire multiplied and rose over her head to form a great column. Wind whipped the grass and trees surrounding the crossroads, but left them, in the middle untouched. Lightening flashed and thunder rumbled. The sun was past halfway gone when Dean’s body jerked upright and a familiar dark cloud rose from her open mouth. The girl’s body fell away, and the smoke mixed with the fire ash and rose to the storm.

“Dean!” Sam screamed into the deafening storm, raising his hands to shield his eyes as he dropped to his knees. “Dean!”

A silence fell, the earth held its breath and the sun sank into tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam clawed at his head as memories rushed back in. He flew apart and came back together, the extra bits of him wedging in wherever they could find room. The storm broke free, great sheets of rain fell drenching everything in a matter of seconds. The bowl and altar was gone, everything was gone, except for two bodies prone in the dirt. The girl struggled to her feet took a look at him on his knees and Dean laying still and stumbled away into the night. Later, maybe he’d add one more mark to his long list of regrets, but for now he let her go.

Twenty-four years of forgotten memories flashed through his brain, and he remembered again, Christmases, birthdays, his first hunt, and his first kill, all with his brother’s face restored. Dean’s body so often against his and smile ready to put the sunlight to shame. Sam remembered being angry all the time, and finally leaving for Stanford with his only regret being that he had to leave Dean alone to do it. Dean came back to get him, and like a harbinger, death followed. First Jess, then Dad, and finally Dean was all he had left. And then he was going to die too.

“Dean? Dean! Oh my God.” 

His pants ripped as he crawled frantically over the ground, dirt and gravel packed under his fingernails and it took an eternity to reach his brother’s side. He couldn’t see Dean’s chest move and when Sam finally reached him, Dean’s skin was as cold as graveyard dirt, his clothes a torn and burnt mess. “Dean?” Sam asked, tears falling freely from his eyes. “Dean, wake up.”

He laid his head down on Dean’s chest, listening for a heartbeat when Dean convulsed and started coughing. Sam sat up, and lifted Dean’s head up to his chest, cradling him carefully while laughing and crying at the same time. He rocked back, getting an arm behind Dean’s back and hugging him as tightly as he could.

“Anybody get the license place for that karmic bus?” Dean asked and chuckled weakly, but under Sam’s fingers he grew warm and his ribcage worked up and down taking great gasping breaths. “Jesus, Sammy, I leave you alone for a few days and you go and get all emotionally weepy on me.”

Sam pushed Dean back down into the ground, uncaring that he was sinking in the mud or that it was getting slathered into his and Dean’s hair. He remembered the past two years like a bad dream that clung to his bones and refused to leave at first light. His loneliness and unhappiness collapsed around him as he found Dean’s mouth under his.

“Sam. Sammy!” Dean yelled, wrenching his mouth away and yelling to try to get Sam’s attention. He pulled at the back of Sam’s jacket, but wasn’t yet strong enough to budge him an inch.

“Missed you. Missed you so goddamn much,” Sam ground out, pushing his nose under Dean’s jaw and mouthing wetly across Dean’s neck to latch onto the soft skin just behind Dean’s ear. It was salty and gritty, coated with a fine layer of sweat, but Sam couldn’t care less. Rainwater mixed down their bodies, running in rivulets across their skin, lapped up from Dean’s neck by his tongue.

Dean rolled his hips up, catching his feet up behind Sam’s knees and working their bodies together. He laughed, the sound bright in the darkness and tugged Sam’s head up to rest against his cheekbone. “You didn’t even remember to miss me!” he said, humor coloring any rebuke he might have been trying to make.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam said, cupping his hands under Dean’s shoulder blades and curling his fingers into the hard muscle of his brother’s back. “Your fault anyway.”

He could feel Dean panting harshly underneath him, each rise and fall of Dean’s ribcage pressing into Sam and reminding him of what he’d lived without for so long. Dean’s hand stroked up and down Sam’s back until they strayed lower and tucked into the back of Sam’s pants, fingers cold against heated flesh. Short fingernails scratched at his skin and encouraged Sam to grind down against Dean’s hips all the harder.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whined, his voice spiraling higher as his body tensed and arched under Sam’s head. “I’m sorry, I had too.” 

Sam bit down hard on the muscle connecting Dean’s neck to his shoulder before he sat up, dragging Dean with him. He fisted his hands in the front of Dean’s jacket and shook him roughly. His hair was plastered down like a skull cap, dropping in his eyes so that he had to shake his head like a dog before he could meet Dean’s eyes. “I swear, if you ever do anything so stupid again, I’ll follow you down to hell and kick your ass myself,” he said, shaking Dean again just to make himself clear.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, griping Sam’s head tightly and smacking their foreheads together lightly. “Promises, promises.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the way back to town, Sam drove carefully, letting Dean’s voice wash over him, even if the entire conversation consisted of Dean whining because his wet jeans were chafing. He couldn’t believe that he spent the last two years wasting his life, not realizing that a piece of his own soul was missing. He wouldn’t waste anymore time.

The door to the motel hadn’t even clicked shut behind them when Sam quickly pulled his shirt over his head and pushed Dean down onto the bed. Their boots were covered in mud, but Sam was past caring as he crawled over him to claim his mouth in a bruising kiss. They were both chilled and soaking wet, but Sam couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than his brother spread out beneath him.

Fingers scrabbled at the button and zipper on his jeans, and dimly, he could hear Dean talking to him, but it was lost in the roaring of his ears. Sam couldn’t take his hands off Dean’s body, roaming from the small of his back up to trace along the delicate arch of his eyebrows. He rubbed his finger against the grain of the hair just because he could and grinned when Dean squawked and batted his hands away.

“You’re such a gigantic freak,” Dean whispered, pressing his face into Sam’s neck and struggling to push down both their jeans. 

Sam kicked his shoes off and wiggled to get rid of the layers between them, needed skin contact and needing it immediately. Dean’s arms got caught in his t-shirt while Sam was trying to pull it off, until Sam finally grunted and tore the shirt in two. He felt starved for touch, wanting it more than to keep on breathing, and every bit of his ached to be inside Dean but he knew he’d never make it. Sam held his breath, struggling to climb closer to Dean, stretching from his toes to his fingers and yearning forward. 

Finally Dean got his hand around both of them, his familiar calluses tickling the edges of Sam’s dick and drawing out twin moans from both of them. Sam thrust down into the cradle of Dean’s hips and then shifted up on his elbows, looking down until he caught Dean’s eyes. Dean’s hand on him stuttered for a moment, and then tightened, stroking until Sam broke over in a sob and came hard, splashing long stripes up his stomach.

“Wow, Sammy,” Dean smirked, one hand still working his own cock ruthlessly while moving the fingers of his other hand over Sam’s back and neck. “Hair-trigger, much?”

“It’s been almost two years,” Sam panted, pleasure still rolling through his toes even as he tried to defend himself. 

Dean reached over and palmed Sam’s twitching cock and playfully nipped at the end of Sam’s nose, making him go cross-eyed trying to watch. “I swear, you were one of those hairless monks in your last life,” he said sadly, shaking his head and rolled away toward the edge of the bed.

“Guess I’ve got a lot to make up for then,” Sam replied, rolling with Dean and covering his body from neck to knee. He slipped a hand under Dean’s midsection and slid them both up to their hands and knees. Dean’s shoulders flexed and bunched under Sam’s cheek as he trailed his hand down Dean’s abdomen and stroked down the hard length of Dean’s cock.

Dean groaned and arched back into Sam’s body, rubbing his ass into Sam’s half-hard cock. Moving together again, it was as if they’d never been apart. Sam licked a hot stripe up Dean’s spine and nosed into the short hair covering the back of his brother’s head. He wrung Dean harder, twisting, and thumbing over the thin slit at the crown. “C’mon, Dean,” he mumbled, lightly scratching with his teeth. “C’mon.”

Their thighs trembled together as Dean shot off through Sam’s fingers, making a mess of the already rumpled bedspread. Dean crumpled to the bed, one arm underneath him at an awkward angle, but he didn’t move until Sam nudged him over and followed, twisting their bodies together. His hand still fit perfectly on the tattoo over Dean’s heart, and he twisted just enough to let his thumb trail over the nearby nipple. 

The sounds of their breathing was almost back under control when Sam couldn’t hold in his question anymore. “What was it like?” he asked, the stubble on his cheek rasping against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean rumbled, clearing his throat and lifted his hand to toy with the end of Sam’s hair. “It was awful,” he answered, his voice vibrating through his chest and into Sam’s skin. “First, they made me talk about my feelings, then I had to sit through the Star Wars prequels on repeat for what seemed like years, and finally I had to separate a never-ending stream of Britney Spears and Fall Out Boy albums from my cock rock collection.”

“Dean, you can tell me,” Sam said softly, not rising to the bait Dean was hoping to distract him with.

Sighing and shoving until Sam moved away, Dean sat up and turned his back. “Okay, next time I feel like scarring someone for life, you’re first on my list. Ain’t gonna happen Sam, so don’t push,” he said and stood, putting his hands on his lower back and pushing until his back cracked. “I’m going to catch a shower real quick, then we gotta get out of here before Lilith starts looking for us.”

“They can’t take you back?” Sam asked alarmed and quickly swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“No,” Dean said, kicking aside his jeans and walking to the bathroom. “The deal said I had to go to hell, not how long I had to stay there. It’s back to business as usual.”

Dean didn’t bother to shut the door completely, and Sam was grateful for the knowledge that he could push the door open and join Dean under the warm spray of the shower. First though, he flopped back on the bed wanting just a second to himself to enjoy the moment of having his brother back where he belonged. The universe never gave a Winchester anything for free though, and immediately his phone started ringing. By the time he found his pants under the bed, the call had already kicked over into voice mail.

Keying in his password, Sam held the phone up to his ear, and felt a grin spread across his face as he listened to the message. “Bobby says that the next time he sees you, he’s going to kill you,” Sam yelled, smiling and throwing the phone up toward the pillow, “painfully.”

“Tell him to get in line,” Dean yelled back, his voice muffled through the door and newly escaping steam. “And get your skinny ass in here and wash my back!”

**Author's Note:**

> another oldie. I have no idea if the time frame makes sense. : ) I hope you enjoy! on dreamwidth [here](https://chase-acow.dreamwidth.org/184174.html)


End file.
